Butterfly Kisses
by Liquid Laughter
Summary: She knows that the final storm that’s been looming on the horizon for three years now is about to break loose. And she’s standing in the Room of Requirement, wondering who they’re going to lose.


_Disclaimer: I don't own it…and that makes me sad. _

Butterfly Kisses

*****

It's coming.

She's not sure if it's going to be in minutes or hours, but she knows that the final storm that's been looming on the horizon for three years now is about to break loose. And she's standing in the Room of Requirement, wondering who they're going to lose.

Because she knows…_knows_…they're going to lose someone. Her adventures have taught her too much for her to hope otherwise.

Who will it be? She looks around the rapidly-filling room, gazing at the faces that she's known since she was a tiny, scared little girl, ignorant of magic. And now she's an adult and she knows more about some magic than she cared to ever know, but she still feels tiny and oh so scared.

…Will it be Molly? Remus? Seamus? Luna? Ginny? Horror of unspeakable horrors, Ron or Harry? And what if it's…

And suddenly she feels arms on either side of her, just like the time she was lost and confused and worried out of her mind in first year, and she looks up and, _sure enough_, there they are, grinning down at her just like always.

And suddenly she's sobbing and clutching them both around the necks, these two pranksters that she's always admired. And they're making a big fuss about it and pretending to put up a fight, but she notices they're hugging her back, and somehow that makes her even more frightened, because they're scared as well, these brave boys who aren't afraid of anything.

"Fred…George," she chokes out, gripping each one more tightly in an individual hug as she says his name. They make a big show of shushing her, their eyes sparkling with affection and she knows they're glad she can tell them apart, in spite of what they always say.

"Hush, 'Mione; can't have everyone knowing who we are – "

"Spoils the fun, you see – "

"And if you say it, everyone will know – "

"Exactly which one's which – "

"Which will definitely put a damper – "

"On our festivities."

And she's laughing and hiccupping and a few tears are leaking out, and Fred is reaching up to thumb them away and he's smiling and George is wearing that same smile and she _loves_ it…

But then Ron's pulling her away and they're sprinting to the bathroom and when they come back it's time to go and it's duck, dodge, stun, disarm, whirl, _Harry!_ and fire, oh god, the fire, and they're not going to make it, and she squeezes Ron's waist just a little tighter and buries her face in his shoulder and she feels him speed up in response, and Harry's below them and she can hear Malfoy yelling, and then they're _free_ and the air is clean and she can breathe again and she wants to cry as she sees the twins go sprinting by, pursued by some portly little Death Eater, because they're _grinning_ and some things just never change and that rotund little killer may as well be Argus Filch, quibbling over dungbombs in the dungeons.

And she later wonders if he knew, because he suddenly stops beside them as Harry sends a hex at the Death Eater and he falls, stunned. And he grabs Harry and Ron in a tight joint-hug, not unlike she hugged him and George only a few hours ago and he doesn't look like he wants to let go but he does after squeezing them tightly, and then he turns to her with a roguish grin, and her breath just stops, because how can anyone's smile look _that_ amazing in the midst of all _this_? And then he's kissing her, and she's kissing him back, and she knows Harry and Ron are grinning, but oh _gods _this _kiss_…

And then he's broken away and they're both breathing heavily, and sweet Circe his eyes just _sparkle_ and he's grinning that grin she loves best, that cheeky one that says he'll never get caught, and he's taking off down the corridor after George and she wants to cry all over again because he's just too_ much,_ too much for this imperfect world…

…And then she's saying goodbye, for the last time, and she's watching the flames and even though she's nowhere near that _thing_ she still feels the burning, burning, burning, and it's like being back in the Room of Requirement, and she can't breathe; why can't she breathe? And Harry's holding her up, his other hand on Ron's shoulder and they're all crying and oh, gods, she _knew_ it.

And then she and George are the last ones there, because everyone else has gone in as the night has approached. And they're both kneeling in front of that horrid white headstone and she _hates_ it and she's remembering his last smile and oh, Merlin, his _eyes_, and

"'Mione?"

that laugh of his that made everyone else laugh with him, that laugh that was the last sound that ever passed his lips, that she's spent every night since committing to memory…

"Yes, George?"

"How did you always manage to tell us apart?" And she wants to laugh and cry and scream, all at once, because it hurts, thinking about her little trick for distinguishing the two, because she'll never need it again, and _why?_

But she reaches for his hand, because she knows that's what he needs; he needs her to be the strong, push-through-no-matter-what Hermione that she's always been, because his whole world has already been turned upside down and he wouldn't be able to take any more, and she offers him the strongest smile she can and he's looking at her with that earnest expression, needing to know, and she'll tell him someday, but she knows that right now it will only make his loss stronger and she can't do that, so she quips something silly and inconsequential about it spoiling the fun and to her utter joy he's _laughing_ and he looks so_ much_ like Fred that it takes her breath away…

…but the butterflies in her stomach don't even flutter.

*****


End file.
